


Beauty and the Beasts and Where to Find Them

by shannsleeve, teacup-occamy (tinyshoopuf)



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannsleeve/pseuds/shannsleeve, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyshoopuf/pseuds/teacup-occamy
Summary: In which Belle gets creative and Newt finds himself playing doctor to an injured and irate Beast a good hundred and fifty years before the magizoologist was born.





	1. A Letter From Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> A collaborative work written after the first movie, but before the second.

“What are you waiting for? Open the book!” Lumière gestured impatiently to the leatherbound tome set out for display on the desk. 

Belle hovered over the volume, letter in hand, unsure why she was being so hesitant. After all, the worst that could happen was this man, this Newton Scamander, wouldn’t respond and she’d just have to make do with searching the shelves for an answer. Not that this had been very fruitful so far, but then again, how many books would this library (this glorious, wonderful library) likely have on the subject of dealing with wounds on cursed individuals?  Especially when said individual was no longer physically human.

“I don’t trust him,” Cogsworth grumbled from the floor. Belle grinned.

“You don’t trust him just because he’s English,” she said, shaking her head and steeling herself.  The last time she’d used the book the Beast had been with her and he had been the one in control of the magic. Now she was alone, attempting to bend the enchantment so that she might leave an object behind. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if the spell didn’t allow this, but worry over the Beast’s incapacitated state strengthened her resolve. “Right, here goes.”

She flipped open the book, thinking hard of what she wanted. When they’d asked the mirror for help earlier, she’d been wishing for it to show her where in the vast library she might find useful references. To her surprise, the swirling mists had opened on the visage of a middle-aged man with unruly ginger hair and more freckles than anyone would know what to do with.  After an hour of investigating, Belle had a name and a decent idea of the man’s expertise, thanks to the very same book she stared at now. She took a deep breath and concentrated.

Soon an image began to form of a workbench cluttered with vials and plants and a multitude of objects both foreign and familiar. Belle’s fingers itched to tidy the disarray, but she put it from her mind as she took a another deep breath and thrust the hand clutching the letter forward.  Where she had expected to meet some form of resistance, she found only a cool tingling, almost like she was reaching through a curtain of water. She searched for a clear spot on which to leave her letter, but there seemed to be no empty space amongst the paraphernalia that littered the table.  Nerves jangling, she dropped the envelope onto a pile of leaves, where she hoped it would stand out against the dark green foliage, and hastily retreated.

“Well?  Did it work?” Mrs. Potts inquired from her cart.

Belle nodded.  “I think so.  Lumière?  Would you stand watch and let us know when Mssr. Scamander responds?”

“Bien sûr, mademoiselle!”  He saluted her, causing the flame in his right candle to puff out, and positioned himself in front of the book with the air of one ready to stand vigil. She nodded and moved away, lowering her voice so that Lumière wouldn’t hear.

“Best keep Plumette occupied elsewhere, otherwise he may be too distracted to notice when Mssr. Scamander replies,” Belle whispered as she wheeled the cart bearing Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth out of the library.  The teapot tittered and promised to keep an eye on the featherduster.

***

Newt stared at the cream vellum envelope that lay innocently atop a pile of dried mandrake leaves. He was quite certain a letter had not been there five minutes ago when he had left the shed to give the erumpent a treatment for her ear mites. Tina always knocked before opening the case on the off chance that something was in a position to escape, so he didn’t think she’d left it for him.  Then how did it get here?

Curiously, he peered down at the red wax seal that had been molded into a many petalled rose and briefly wondered if it was the sheer weight of the thing holding the flap down. It was artfully constructed and had just a whisper of power about it. The seal itself might not be enchanted, but it -- and the letter -- had been somewhere charged with magical energies. Best to proceed with caution. He prodded the artificial flower with the tip of his wand, muttering the strongest disarming and shielding spells he’d learned, and watched as the whole arrangement gracefully unfolded, allowing him to see the delicate loops of a letter.  He glanced it over.

“Say, Pickett, how’s your French?” Newt asked the small bowtruckle who was currently dangling from his breast pocket for a better look.  Pickett twitched a sarcastic leaf at him, causing him to chuckle.  “Alright, alright, I’ll translate.”

_ Monsieur Scamander,  _

_ I am writing because it has come to my attention that you are an expert in the field of magical creatures. A friend of mine has been gravely injured and I believe you might be able to help him. He is a beast who was once a man, cursed to remain so for an unknown amount of time. His anatomy is a cross between that of a human and a number of different beasts; thus, I do not know how to properly care for him. If you are willing to assist, please leave your reply wherever you found this note. I have included a list of his symptoms below.  _

_ Merci, Mlle Belle Dessine _

Newt scanned the bottom of the page, reading through the symptoms the mysterious writer had provided.  Once he was finished, he set the letter aside and rubbed his chin in contemplation.  The wars, both muggle and magical, had left everyone guarded and on edge. He needed to find out how someone had managed to leave the missive within his case with him none the wiser.  Times might be peaceful now, but that did not warrant a lapse in security.

Besides, he was intrigued.

What curse could cause a man to be transfigured into a combination of various beasts? How had such a thing even come about? Perhaps it wouldn’t be remiss to at least gather some more information.  He could ask for further details and then spy on his workbench to discover how the sender was finding their way into his case.  

Satisfied with his course of action, he rummaged in a drawer for a sheet of foolscap and set about penning a response.  Once finished, he tucked the paper neatly into the envelope and left it displayed on a cleared space on the desktop.  Slipping the original letter into his coat, he ducked through the door and into his menagerie, fishing a compact mirror out of a pocket as he went.  Linked with the looking glass set above the door, he would have an ample view with which to spy on the interior of the shed.  He settled in to wait.

***

“Mademoiselle! Wake up!”

“Mm?” Belle slowly opened her eyes to see the golden candelabra standing a few inches away from her nose. With immense effort, she lifted her head from the scarlet duvet, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. “What’s the matter, Lumière? Is there a response?”

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he said, carefully side stepping his master’s arm before hopping off the bed. Once he was on the ground, he extended a flaming hand towards her, beckoning her to follow. “Please hurry, cherie. Cogsworth is beside himself!” As he uttered the words, his footsteps slowed to a halt. A mischievous grin split across his face and the flames upon his person twinkled with mirth. “On the other hand,” he said, straightening to his full height. “Please, take all the time you need. There’s no need to rush.”

Belle rolled her eyes but broke into a toothy grin as the candelabra offered her an elaborate bow and a wink. “I will be there in a moment,” she said, stifling a laugh as Lumière frowned, clearly disappointed with her response. “Do take care  _ not  _ to give Cogsworth a conniption!” 

“I can promise nothing, mademoiselle!” Lumière called as he waltzed gracefully out of the room. 

As the doors shut behind him, Belle yawned loudly before rising from her chair to stretch. This was the third night she’d fallen asleep at the Beast’s bedside. After his initial collapse, she hoped a few hours of rest and some healing salve would set him right; however, like most dreams born in the castle, her hopes were dashed. He hadn’t moved at all since she’d changed his dressings the previous evening. He’d fallen into a restless sleep and his temperature had risen to unnatural heights for the fifth time in the past week. She brought her hand to his brow, frowning deeply as she realized the fever still raged. At least, she reflected, his breathing seemed less labored. She heaved a sigh before retrieving a cool cloth from a nearby cart to place on his forehead. “I’ll be back soon,” she murmured, gently sweeping aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen across his closed eyes. “Then we’ll continue on with  _ Romeo and Juliet _ because I know it’s your favorite.” As she slipped through the chamber doors, she could have sworn she heard a quiet, rumbling retort.

“ _ Never _ .”

Grinning slightly, she made her way to the library and, hopefully, a favorable reply.  As she turned into the corridor, she heard the enchanted servants arguing.

“You said she was coming, you flaming nincompoop!” Cogsworth cried, shaking his fist at a nonchalant Lumière.The candelabra leaned casually against a stack of books on the nearby desktop while the fuming head of house suppressed the urge to throttle his irksome friend.

“Oui, mon ami,” Lumière said, peering closely at the extinguished wick of his left hand. “Just be patient.”

“Patient?! That English fellow’s response has been there for ages! How long are we to wait for the girl?!” Cogsworth truly was at his wits end. How could no one else understand the urgency of the matter at hand?

Mrs. Potts, who had been silently following the conversation, rolled her eyes and tottered over to the clock. Without preamble, she blew a large cloud of steam into his face until he stumbled away from her, sputtering and swiping at the air. “Oh Cogsworth,” she said. “Calm down an’ take a breath. She’s righ’ there!”

The transfigured timepiece started as Belle strode into the library, her jaw set with determination. She warmly greeted the group as Cogsworth jumped from the cart to the desktop. He brought his monocle to his eye, willing the last bits of steam that clouded it to fade away. Without missing a step, he positioned himself behind the magical tome and extended a hand to her expectantly. “It’s so wonderful to see you up and about, my dear,” he stated none-too-kindly, tapping the book with one of his brass feet. “Mssr. Scamander’s response is located at the center.”

Belle nodded and stepped towards the magical tome. Nestled between the pages was a plain envelope, the corner just peeking out. She took it and nearly ripped the parchment in her haste to pull it from the encasing. As she scanned the page, she prayed to anyone who would listen that Newton Scamander had agreed to her request.

_ Mlle Dessine, _

_ I admit to being intrigued by your request.  In order for me to fully ascertain if I can offer my services, however, I will need some additional information.  First, I need to know the nature of the wound and how he received the injury.  Second, if you could do your best to explain what beasts have gone into his overall makeup, I will be better equipped to formulate a solution.  I realize the latter may be a bit difficult, but any identifying features you can provide will be helpful.  A drawing, if you are so inclined, would be beneficial, though not entirely necessary. _

_ Mssr Scamander _

_ P.S. Do pardon my French, I’m a smidge rusty. _

“Oh, thank goodness,” Belle breathed, setting the parchment down on the desk. She turned to see all of the servants balanced precariously atop Mrs. Pott’s cart, all bearing the same nervous expressions - which under different circumstances would have sparked an uncontrollable bout of hearty laughter. “Mssr. Scamander is willing to help!”

A chorus of thankful cheers erupted from the tea cart. Once it died down, Belle read off the magizoologist’s requests. 

“A drawing?” Lumière repeated. When Belle replied with assent he ruefully shook his head. “Non, non. That will not do! The Master would never allow it.”

“Well it is listed as an  _ option _ ,” she said, worrying her lip. “But I don’t believe a mere description of him would be enough. This is a rather complicated situation.”

“Then what should we do?” Cogsworth asked, scratching his head. “We can’t very well bring the man here; the Master would be furious!”

Suddenly, all eyes and ears were trained on him. 

“Why, that’s a splendid idea, Cogsworth!” Lumière cried, gathering up the mantleclock in his arms and swinging him around. “Bravo, mon ami!, Bravo!”

“PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!” Cogsworth wailed, trying desperately to shove the candelabra away. “And w-what do you mean ‘bravo?!’” He continued to squirm violently as Lumière refused to release him. “No! No! As head of the household, I won’t allow such a thing!”

“Come now, dearies!” Mrs. Potts cried as she shoved herself between candelabra and the clock. “If this man came to the castle, it would meet all the needs on his list. Better to get it all done in one go!”

Lumière stumbled back, boisterous laughter bubbling from his lips. Cogsworth, on the other hand, crashed onto the tabletop in a heap of brass cannonballs and ear-splitting chimes. Before he could right himself and rush at Lumière, Belle placed a hand on his head, startling the three servants. She knew what her decision would be and she didn’t hesitate to inform them of it.

“We shall bring Monsieur Scamander to see the Beast.”


	2. Let's Run Away

Tina, to say the least, was not happy.

Newt had explained to her about the mysterious letter, about how he’d watched for a good twenty minutes to see how the sender was getting in and out of his case. And that he’d learned nothing. The envelope had simply disappeared in a swirl of glittery smoke and he was no closer to understanding how it was accomplished. Tina had insisted on checking the archives at the International Confederation of Wizards Exeter office for more information and it had taken him a while to talk her out of bringing the case along. She’d finally relented after he pointed out the potential breach of security it posed.

Now, he was seated on a stool in the corner of his shed, staring glumly at the rows of dried plants hung above his workbench. A bucket of peas he’d been shelling lay forgotten at his feet as he turned the situation over in his mind. The problem described in the letter was certainly intriguing and he desperately wanted to pursue this new challenge, but he couldn’t shake the unsettling sensation in his stomach whenever he thought about how he’d been contacted.

He groaned softly and removed his spectacles, rubbing the bridge of his nose where a small headache had been building all afternoon. This was the first time his sanctuary had been invaded since its creation. Even the twenty-odd years he’d been fighting Grindelwald along with the ensuing world war -- his second! -- hadn’t shaken his refuge. His case had always, _always_ , been the one place he truly felt safe.

With a sigh, Newt replaced his spectacles and looked back towards the plants with a mind to brew up some Feverfew for his headache -- and jumped. A disembodied arm had appeared above the table, another vellum envelope clutched in the decidedly feminine hand. Thoroughly surprised, he slid sideways off his stool, one foot kicking the bucket of peas over and sending the contents scattering across the floor.  

He sat on the ground and stared as the hand gently placed the new letter upon the table. Only when it had begun to withdraw did he come to his senses and scramble to his feet, lurching towards the counter in a flurry of rather uncoordinated motion. In his haste, he overshot, smacking into the edge of the bench and slipping on a few errant peas. From the corner of his eye, he was able to catch a glimpse of a surprised looking young woman before the image faded from view.

He clutched the table edge, the only thing keeping him currently upright, and stared at the space the woman’s face had been moments ago.  Pickett, confused at the sudden rollercoaster, poked his head out of Newt’s breast pocket, glancing about curiously and chittering at him in his small, reedy voice. The sounds snapped Newt out of his fugue and he hurried to tear open the letter.

_Mssr. Scamander,_

_I believe this whole process would be expedited if you were to see my friend yourself. I confess his situation is rather unique and I fear I’m unable to adequately describe the extent of his injuries. I admit this is a rather strange and hasty request, but would you be able to see him tonight? I can arrange for your transport as soon as you are agreeable._

_Mlle Dessine_

Newt read over the letter twice, heart pounding with excitement and adrenaline. Interest in what had just transpired flashed momentarily, only to be chased by anticipation for what was to come. Absently, he soothed his still flustered bowtruckle while his thoughts continued to race dizzily. Could he really take up this offer and travel to some unknown destination? Surely, he’d done it before in his youth, but times had changed.

With a wave of his wand, he sent the peas cascading back into the bucket, just like he’d done when he’d first acquired a diriclaw and it had Apparated right in front of him. Not a week later the erumpent had sat on this very same bucket, bending it out of shape until he’d magicked it back. Newt stared at the still slightly misshapen rim and smiled. Every creature he’d ever tracked and studied had provided him with an adventure - and he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist what the letter writer was offering.  Tina said it was one of him charms, as well as one of his faults.

Belatedly, he remembered his wife, who was currently frantically searching through every resource available to her to explain the breach in his case. He needed to speak with her before making any decisions, that was certain.

Grabbing his coat and making sure Pickett was tucked securely away, Newt raced up the ladder that led out of his case. He didn’t realize he was grinning madly, eyes alight with a thrill reserved only for those times he was chasing after a magical creature. Things had just gotten _very_ interesting.

***

Belle stumbled back from the enchanted book, heart fluttering wildly, the hand that had just reached through the void pressed firmly to her chest. “I-I think I just saw him!”

“You saw him?!” the servants chorused, as Belle nodded vigorously, her eyes darting from the book to her companions who were perched precariously on Mrs. Pott’s tea cart. The teapot quickly navigated the cart to where Belle stood. With barely restrained curiosity, the enchanted objects peered at the swirling mists dancing across the pages. After a few moments, when the face of the elusive Mssr. Scamander did not appear, they collectively heaved a sigh of disappointment. Cogsworth, however, was not dissuaded and proceeded to pelt Belle with a barrage of questions.

“What did he look like? Was he tall? Short? Fat? Thin?” he questioned, crossing his arms and adjusting his monocle to seem slightly more intimidating. “Is he trustworthy? Is he a thief? Is he _actually_ competent?”

“You can’t learn all of those things from a simple glance, Cogsworth,” said Lumière, extinguishing the flame on his right hand before landing a resounding smack on the clock’s shoulder. “Besides, give Mssr. Scamander a chance! It’s not as though _you’ve_ been very helpful, mon ami.”

Cogsworth shot Lumière a withering look while grumbling about not being able to turn pages with his stubby little mechanical arms. Reluctantly, he admitted that Lumière was - he shivered visibly - _right_ and swallowed the rest of his protestations.

Belle gave Cogsworth a sympathetic smile and patted him gently on the head. “I will be sure to keep your questions in mind when I officially meet him.” Suddenly aware of the lateness in the day, she knelt before the enchanted timepiece and looked directly into his face. While she determined the time, Cogsworth shifted uncomfortably, his minute and second hands twitching more violently with every second.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, turning away. “You could just _ask_ for the time rather than boring your gaze into my face.”

Belle shot up to her full height, a fierce blush coloring her cheeks.“Oh! Yes, I’m so sorry, Cogsworth,” she said, turning away from him. “Well, um, I’ll go and check on the Beast. Lumière, please remain here again until Mssr. Scamander responds.”

The candelabra bowed low before her. “As you wish, ma chère!” As Belle and the other servants left the library, he resumed his vigil, pacing to and fro in front of the enchanted book.

***

Belle and the servants raced down the corridor towards the Beast’s chambers. The gargantuan windows along the hall offered a full view of the grounds, bathed in the rich reds and golds of early dusk. When they arrived at their destination, Belle pushed open the great doors to reveal an upright Beast blearily gazing at his surroundings.

“You’re up!” she cried, rushing towards him. Behind her, Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth rolled in on the tea cart, knowing smiles on their faces.

“Not entirely,” the Beast grumbled, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “I’m still lounging on these blasted pillows.”

Belle rolled her eyes as she plopped down on the duvet next to him. “Your jokes are worse than I thought.” She giggled as he shot her a rather sour look. “Right. First things, first. It’s time to change your dressings.”

The Beast groaned, causing the canopy above his bed to shake.

“Now, now, Master,” said Mrs. Potts as Belle picked her up from the tea cart. “Stop your fussin’. It’ll be over quicker than you can say ‘Shepherd’s Pie!’”

The invalid fixed her with a hard stare, gauging whether or not his old nurse might be telling the truth. Then, after a few moments’ contemplation he uttered: “ _Shepherd’s Pie_.” When the teapot refused to respond and Belle continued to indifferently lay out the cotton bandages, he frowned. With the voice of the petulant, little prince he once was, he addressed Mrs. Potts:  “You lied, Madame! It isn’t over yet!”

“It _would_ be if you’d just cooperate,” said Belle ruefully. With careful fingers, she tipped the transfigured teapot over a clear crystal bowl. The strong, sterile smell of liniment and herbs permeated the room. Through the sound of cascading water, Mrs. Potts managed to utter in agreement along with something about how the curse must’ve returned her beloved charge to his five-year-old self, only with more hair. The room echoed with the Beast’s earth-shattering laugh.

The dressing change was a very practiced yet still unmastered dance between Belle and the Beast. He groaned and whined and winced and cursed excessively when the bandages were removed, as well as every time the healing salve was applied to his angry, broken flesh. His caregiver needed to bite her lip to keep from laughing and snapping at him in equal measure. When the painful task was finally completed, the Beast lay back comfortably against the pillows, his attention fully on Cogsworth who had hopped onto the bed and was now pacing across the duvet, relaying to him the goings on of the household.

“And then in the library--”

“Cogsworth!” Belle and Mrs. Potts cried, the former nearly dropping the latter to the floor in shock. They stared at him, mouths agape, anger etched into every line of their faces.

The Beast cocked his head to the side, looking from the enchanted timepiece back to Belle and the teapot, his curiosity piqued. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“No!” Belle cried, her mind racing to find an appropriate excuse to give him. He couldn’t know about the letters or the magizoologist just yet. It wasn’t the right time. “I mean, it was supposed to be a surprise…”

“A surprise?”

“Yes!” She nodded wildly, hair flying in all directions. “Yes, a-and a rather well-thought out surprise, at that! So you’ll have to wait for it. Once you get your strength back, then we can revisit the subject.”

The Beast opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Belle settled down next to him. In her hand, she held a volume of Shakespeare’s plays. Almost immediately, his protestations fled and were replaced by a sinking (yet all together thrilling!) realization that she was about to make good on her promise. As she flipped the book open, Cogsworth, thoroughly embarrassed by his slip of the tongue, excused himself and jumped back onto the tea cart. Mrs. Potts then wheeled them away, casting a reassuring smile in Belle’s direction. As the doors closed behind the enchanted servants, Belle turned to the Beast and placed her hand gently on his arm.

“What do you say we run away?” she whispered. When her companion nodded his assent, a coy smile graced her features and she began where they paused the night before.

“ _My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late...”_


	3. Then There Was One

Exeter hosted a satellite office of England’s branch of the International Confederation of Wizards. Of course, the main branch was located in London with all due pomp and circumstance, but Tina had worked so closely and so well with the Exeter team during the war that it had been only natural for her to remain as a permanent member once the fighting was over. Housed in the Exeter Sun newspaper office, the somewhat ragtag team had earned the nickname the Wild Hunt for their ability to track down information and persons of interest that was so reminiscent of the old local legends.

Newt leaned against the gray stone exterior of the building, case at his feet and Muggle newspaper in hand, having passed his summons to the doorman. Berkeley, known to the magical community as a Guardian of the Gate, would see to it that Tina was contacted in a timely fashion. In the meantime, Newt decided to try and tackle the crossword.

By the time he’d worked his way halfway through the puzzle, Tina had emerged, talking animatedly to a shorter woman who kept pace with her. Watching them come closer, he folded the newspaper and waited patiently for them to reach him.

“--told the minister that the internal Floo Network in India was running smoothly, so they’re going to start building the infrastructure for public transport in all the post offices.” TIna smiled as she approached, gesturing to him with one hand. “This is my husband, Newt Scamander. Newt, this is Ninette Bitar, one of our French allies.”

“Ahh, so _this_ is the famous Mr. Scamander! I have need to thank you, monsieur, on behalf of my village. We had a dano kuttay that has terrorized us for very many years and we have learned from your book that they will not attack if one is looking at them. Now when we women gather truffles in the forest, we wear a mask on the back of our heads. Some have stitched a pattern of face onto their hijabs.” She turned and tilted her head to show them the embroidery on the back of her scarf. “It is dangerous still to gather the truffles, but we are more protected now at least.”

Newt smiled crookedly at her, not quite able to meet her eyes. “I learned that from a man I met in India. They have a spectacular array of knowledge there, we still owl each other discussing the various magical creatures native to the continent. You remember Harupta, don’t you, Tina?”

“Is he the one who sent us twenty-three pictures of his new granddaughter because he couldn’t decide which was his favorite?”

Newt nodded and Ninette let out a hearty laugh. “Oh, I think I would like this Harupta! Now, come, come, things are better discussed over food and I quite like what this Miss Clara does with bread. It is unfortunate, but no matter how many times I am asking for the spell to make her bread rise, she will not tell me.” With a decisive nod, Ninette began walking towards a small bakery just down the street from the newspaper office, the couple falling in a few steps behind.

Interpreting the look Newt directed her way, Tina explained, “Ninette is particularly adept at scrying. Give her an object and she can find out a lot about the last few people who have handled it. I figured she could take a look at that letter.”

“Nobody seems to realize how much of themselves they leave behind on objects that they’ve touched,” Ninette said over her shoulder. “Basic washing and some ritual cleansing can get rid of more casual interactions, but if the person has devoted any amount of attention and time to the object, the more lasting the impression.”

“Before the war, Ninette worked with her family on a number of archaeological sites along the Mediterranean coast, particularly in Egypt.”

Ninette opened the door to the bakery and held it as first Tina and then Newt passed through. A bell set above the door chimed merrily, alerting the proprietor to their presence. “This is where my family originally is from: Egypt, some three or four generations back.”

“Right after them Napoleonic Wars,” said a rather robust older woman as she emerged from behind a curtain that Newt assumed led to the kitchens. She strode forward, wiping her hands on a cloth that looked to be as caked in flour as the rest of her. “Hello, dearies, you’re just in time for tea. Last batch of cakes are coming out of the oven as we speak and I’ll have a pot sent to your room as soon as it gives the whistle! You’ll be wanting the Blue Room, then?”

“If you please, Miss Clara?” Tina said with a warm smile. “We have some business to discuss.”

The woman nodded and chattered gaily as she led the group up a flight of stairs tucked in the back of the shop. As they crested the top step, Newt spied a series of doorways lining a short hallway that buzzed with latent energy. The atmosphere was lazy, but he knew from his forays into Tina’s office that the effect was deceptively simple; any hint of a threat and the air would snap into alertness as defensive spells activated. An appropriate measure, he assumed, for an establishment that frequently hosted members of the Confederation and their constituents.

Clara strode purposefully down the hall, passing the first two doors and stopping at the third, a heavy looking affair of dark rosewood inlaid with a subtle silver latticework of various creatures of the deep. Newt silently studied the decor as the proprietor pulled a ring of oddly shaped keys from beneath her apron, shuffling them around on the ring until she found the one she was looking for. With a mumbled “aha!” she inserted the key into the lock, bending over and whispering a spell as she unlocked the door. Newt heard the tumblers fall into place with an echo that had nothing to do with the acoustics within the mechanism as the energies around the threshold parted like a receding tide. Curious, he observed the door just to his left, taking in the copper scenes of kobolds and brownies and a large wyrm eating its own tail. The energy within the immediate vicinity crackled slightly, seeming to reach out to him with the feel of a tumble of boulders.

He would have liked to stay longer, but Clara was ushering them into the other room and discussing what buns and beverages should be served. Newt ducked between two heavy drapes into the bluest chamber he’d ever seen. Thick cloth hangings in dark blue covered the walls while patterned rugs in intricate silver muffled their footsteps. Couches and armchairs, overflowing with cushions of sapphire and white, ringed a low table of the same dark rosewood as the door and sported a delicate drape of pale blue lace.

Newt found himself wondering what the decor of the other room was like and unconsciously seated himself upon a couch backed up to the wall that separated him from earthy chamber.

“Welcome to the Blue Room, Mr. Scamander,” Ninette said as she settled herself into an armchair opposite the magizoologist. “As you can see, this room is a haven for those whose natures are aligning most closely with water. Because of my affinities, I am finding it easier to place wards against eavesdroppers in here.”

Newt nodded, placing his case carefully by his feet. Tina, who had taken the seat next to him, absentmindedly laced her fingers with his and began to chat with Ninette while they waited for the arrival of their tea.

It didn’t take long for Clara to come bustling in with a service laden with buns, sandwiches, and a pot of spiced tea that Ninette greeted with applause. As their hostess left, Newt heard the same echoing click of the latch and, as if waiting for the cue, Ninette pulled out her wand. She began to trace a sigil in the air, speaking old words of power. The air around the sigil grew heavier and heavier until, with a final flourish of Ninette’s wand, it rushed to the four corners of the room and pooled around their feet and above their heads. Ninette then pulled out a smooth ball of jade and held it just off to the side of the table. When she let go, the ball hung suspended, though nothing was there to support it. Seeing Newt’s curiosity, Tina leaned close to his ear.

“If anyone probes the wards, the ball will start to bob up and down,” she said in a low voice. “If the wards are broken, it will fall.”

“The Nile birthed my people and our water magic is strong; the wards will not fail. However, one can never be too careful.” Ninette put her wand on the table. “Now, Tina has explained to me some things about your problem. Have you the letter?”

Newt nodded. “I actually have two, now. Another letter appeared while you were gone,” he said, turning to his wife. Her brow furrowed.

“Were you able to see how they got in?”

“Ah, about that. I _did_ manage to catch a glimpse of a young woman as she left the note. The, ah, strange part is that she somehow managed to appear in the middle of my shed. Well, not _entirely_ , it was more like a window appeared and she reached through and just dropped the envelope right on the bench.”

Both women paled.

“That is highly concerning, considering the protections Tina has placed on your case, Monsieur,” Ninette said. Tina began to drum her fingers against his knuckles, a sure sign of her worry. “We must investigate this breach with haste, yes. May I see this newest letter, please?”

Newt reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, passing it over to Ninette.

“French origin,” she said immediately, gently drawing her fingers across the surface. “Very high quality, too. The one who sent this is in a mixed emotional state. Young, female. It has not been long since you have received this, yes?” Newt nodded as she drew the note from the envelope. “Hmm, her grammatical structure is...odd. I do not detect any form of deception, just urgency. Nothing that could not be understood from her words. The only other thing I can tell is that she does not own this stationary and that this note has passed through a sort of, um, how to say...distortion?”

“A distortion? In what sense?” Tina asked.

“It is like when one apparates. Should I touch them after, there is a sort of residue for a time that I would be able to feel. Apparation causes two points in space to touch when otherwise they would not be touching. This residue is a byproduct of that moment of joining. This letter has a similar residue. Similar, but not the same.”

Newt and Tina shared a glance.

“And what does that mean?”

“I am not sure. I would need more time to study. May I see the first letter?”

Newt reached into his pocket again, but was met with nothing. Confused, he released his wife’s hand to check more thoroughly, but all of his pockets came up empty.

“It’s gone.”

Tina stared at him. “‘Gone’? What do you mean ‘gone’? Is it in the case?”

“I really don’t think so, I specifically put _both_ letters in my pocket.” He slid off the couch to kneel before his case, unlocking it and carefully opening the lid. He could see his workbench and the surrounding areas, but the letter did not make an appearance. He even reached in and dug around in the bucket of peas.

With a click of the latch, he turned to his wife, face grim. “It’s not here.”

**

Belle stood before the table in confusion. Lumière had called her there in a rush, claiming her first letter to Mr. Scamander had suddenly come pelting out of the enchantress’s book like a line of artillery, knocking the candelabra on his brassy behind. And there, indeed, lay the letter she had passed along that morning, wax seal shedding leaves in an eerie imitation of the Beast’s rose.

What on earth was going on?


End file.
